"Have you ever looked into the eyes of another living creature and found that its sole mission in life was to murder you?"
"Once or twice in the mines, yes, but never in my own barnyard." The farmer tried to tamp down a chuckle and succeeded only in turning it into a snort as she rolled up her sleeves to fish Harvey's glasses from the bottom of her goats' water trough. "And to be fair to James, I don't think headbutting you into two feet of water really counts as trying to murder you, does it?"
Harvey paused in wringing his jacket out over the grass to narrow his eyes at her. "You're a wonderfully sympathetic person, aren't you? I clear my schedule for a house call and this is the thanks I get. What is this world coming to?"
The farmer laughed outright this time, the sight of Harvey's soaked curls falling into his eyes as he tried to glare and his damp mustache drooping into the way of his frustrated sighs becoming too much to resist. His "house calls" were hardly serious affairs these days. On days when she couldn't make the trek into town to deliver a coffee (and a good morning kiss or two), he came to her instead, often bearing dinner from the saloon or a basket of baked goods from Evelyn. The farmer plunged a hand into the water and grimaced as her fingertips brushed against the squishy remains of what might have once been a baguette. Whatever he had brought today would have to be forfeited. No matter. Her own kitchen was well-stocked with produce from her spring and summer harvests; it wouldn't be hard to whip up something hot and comforting as a peace offering after Harvey's unplanned dip.
She'd be lying if she said she hadn't worried at first, when the sound of Harvey apparently bargaining for his life had wafted in through the barn's open door. "Easy now...You just...stay over there, please. No! No, no, NO-" Visions of golems escaped from the mines or slimes migrating from the deep woods had flashed across her mind as she rushed out into the barnyard just in time to see Harvey tip backwards into the water trough, James the billy goat bellowing in outrage as he fell. The farmer bit her lip to keep the snickers from bubbling up in her throat again at the memory of Harvey's pristine brown Oxfords flailing above his head as he went down. It wasn't funny. It shouldn't be funny. But, really, it was a lot better than finding him under attack by something truly dangerous, wasn't it? She grinned as her fingers closed around the missing glasses. She was relieved. And, she mused as she turned to return to her dripping, flustered doctor, vastly amused.
"This is a bit embarrassing...Getting knocked down in front of a lady is hardly a good start to the evening," Harvey grumbled, his cheeks flushed with something other than the late October chill.
"Well, it might not be an ideal start," the farmer said, drying off the glasses with the hem of her shirt and beckoning with her free hand. Harvey stooped down obligingly and she settled the frames back on his nose where they belonged. She trailed a finger downwards, tracing the lines of his chest through his damp shirt. It clung to his torso, outlining his modest muscles in sharp relief. "But it does make for a very nice view..."
Harvey's cheeks flamed an even brighter shade of red, but the farmer could see his lips beginning to curve up beneath his mustache. Whatever shyness he harbored faded a little more every day, even if remnants of it held stubbornly on. "It's not that nice...particularly with grass stains from your goat's horns blocking so much."
"I happen to like this view very much, thanks. Minus the stains, of course." The farmer cocked her head, her one real concern rearing its head. "Are you really alright? No damage from where he hit you?"
She could see the faint greenish outline- the goat had been rooting through the dwindling supply of fresh grass all day-of where James' head had met Harvey's legs just below the knee. After a year of wrangling the goats herself, she knew from experience that such battle wounds would ache for a few days, but would likely leave nothing more than a few colorful bruises. Still, the idea of Harvey suffering from a skirmish from one of her own animals didn't sit well. He was always so careful and protective with her, fussing over even the tiniest scrapes earned in the mines or splinters picked up in the forest. This seemed like a poor way to repay his attentiveness.
"No, nothing a few days' time won't cure." Harvey flashed a reassuring smile and patted her shoulder to soothe the worry that must have shown in her eyes. She wrinkled her nose at the wet handprint soaking into her shirt, but the mischief twinkling in Harvey's eyes kept her from shrugging his hand away.
"You're sure?"
"Well, I am a doctor, but if you insist on taking a look yourself..."
The farmer rolled her eyes and looped an arm through his (waterlogged shirts aside) to tug him in the direction of the farmhouse.
"C'mon, then-if you're well enough to be ornery, you're well enough to walk to the house to warm up in front of the fire."
"Ornery? Me? The very idea…"
The farmer snorted and knocked her shoulder against his, relishing the quiet smile he flashed at her. That vein of mischief was buried deep. Not many people got to see it and even for those who did, it was a rare treat only brought to the surface by the strangest of triggers. An offhand remark, an otherwise mundane task…even a fractious goat. The farmer let out a contented sigh and watched her breath turn to fog in the chilly evening air. Whatever brought out the humor in Harvey, she was just glad that she had the privilege of sharing it.